Page 22 of Reckless
“You best be careful,” I warned him, pushing off his car and stepping closer to him. I got in his face, scowling. “Not everyone’s falling for your act.”
His yellow eyebrows came together. “Act?” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was genuinely confused.
“You’re the only one who has something to gain by framing Jaz,” I told him. “You blame her for all the shit that’s been happening to you. You rich kids think your money can hide everything, but it can’t. Sooner or later the truth will come out, and it’s going to be ugly. Your life will be over.”
“The truth?” Archer echoed, looking even more confused than before. “My family’s truth was already out. If you’re trying to insinuate that I killed Brittany…get the fuck out of my face.” Though he took on an attitude, it wasn’t impressive.
I said nothing, stepping aside to let him reach his car. I watched as he got in, threw a glare my way, and started up the engine, driving off in a hurry. My eyes followed him as he went, something inside me telling me things weren’t over with Archer yet.
Of course, if I’d have known my antics would get Archer to do what he did next, I might’ve rethought my plan—because, as I would find out, that bastard went straight to the Fitzpatrick’s house.
Chapter Seven – Archer
I was angry. I was upset. I was everything I shouldn’t be, which was why I did something that was probably a bad idea: instead of driving home after school and that infuriating encounter with Dante, I went to Oliver Fitzpatrick’s house. Jaz wasn’t there yet; I knew because I hadn’t seen her leave the school while I was talking to Dante.
Even after all this time, even after everything she’d done to me, I still couldn’t help but pay attention to her.
It was stupid, wasn’t it? Stupid was the word of the year when it came to Jaz and me, everything between us. We never should’ve hooked up, I never should’ve let my heart start to feel something for her while I was in a fake relationship with the queen bee of the school. Now I was paying for it, and it was so stupid and annoying I couldn’t take it anymore.
My plan? My plan was to go to Oliver Fitzpatrick and talk to him. He refused to be my father’s lawyer, and yet he was playing Jaz’s advocate? How the hell did that work?
With knuckles that were mostly white, I drove to the Fitzpatrick mansion with a rapidly-beating heart and nervous sweat lining my brow.
Dante thought I’d killed Brittany and purposefully framed Jaz? Why the fuck would I do that? It didn’t make sense. I wouldn’t…I might be a liar, but I liked to think I lied only when necessary, when the situation called for it. Brittany had me by the balls when she’d discovered the truth about what my father had done, and she knew it. She played her hand, used it to keep me close, to get me into her bed—and her into mine.
And she’d thought she was pregnant. Like I’d murder my fake pregnant girlfriend? I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t like Dante or Jaz. I wasn’t, so why did everyone think of me like that?
No, I might be a liar, but I wasn’t a killer.
There was another time, in the far, distant past, when I would’ve said I was smart, too. Brittany and I had always been careful, but…somehow we’d gotten into this big, hideous mess, and now that she was gone, I couldn’t get out of it.
I pulled into the driveway, stopping near the guardhouse. Hitting the button, I rolled down my window to talk to the guard stationed there, the same one that had been here before, when I’d taken Jaz someplace private to talk. Yeah, that had been a mistake. A big one. My jaw still hurt when I thought about it.
“I need to see Oliver Fitzpatrick,” I told him, and the guard gave me a frown as he turned away from me. He didn’t open the gate immediately; if I had to guess, I’d say he gave me his back to call the man himself. “It’s Archer Vega,” I added, realizing it might be helpful to give my name, give Oliver a reason to see me.
Was I still bitter that he’d refused my dad as a client? Yes, yes I was, but for my mom, for what it meant for her. Our money would run out eventually, and then…what would I do? Maybe that was why I’d had enough of this. I needed to get something under control, and since I couldn’t fix that, I went to the next best thing: the disaster that was Jazmine Smith.
The guard poked his head out, saying, “Mr. Fitzpatrick is at the office right now, but he’ll drop everything and come home. I’m not to let you in the house without him.”
“Then I’ll wait,” I said, aware I sounded like an ass. Like a pushy, annoying ass who had nothing better to do. I sat in my car, just before the gate, trying to focus on the radio, on whatever song was playing, but I couldn’t. I could hardly hear anything over the pace of my heart. It was strange, but I felt nervous about this.
What was I going to say? How could I convince Oliver Fitzpatrick that I’d done nothing wrong besides keep my fake girlfriend to myself? I doubted he knew the whole story. I bet he just saw Jaz’s innocent, beautiful face and fell victim to it like everyone else. It wasn’t right.
Five minutes later, another car pulled into the driveway behind me. With my eyes in the rearview mirror, I spotted Jaz in the passenger seat, along with a man who, if I had to guess, was in his late twenties or early thirties. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew I’d seen him around before.
Jaz must’ve recognized my car, for I watched her lean over to the man driving and tell him something. The man took on a scowl, and he put his car into park before getting out. He walked with an attitude toward the guard station, throwing me a glare as he did so, and it made me wonder just what lies Jaz had fed to him. That man didn’t know me, and yet he looked at me like I was the Antichrist.
The man spoke to the guard in the guardhouse, and the guard reached for his phone again. A few moments later, the guard was busy nodding and telling something to the man.
The stranger turned, giving me a tight-lipped smile as he bent to my still-open window. “Looks like I’m going to keep an eye on you until Oliver comes home.” He tapped the side of my car as the gate opened, and I felt myself bristle as he walked back to his car.
I pulled up to the mansion, parking before the front door. Slow in getting out, I turned to watch the man and Jaz get out of his car. Was he her new chauffeur? I was under the impression her mother had driven her most days, but she seemed to be completely at ease with him—however, when those amber eyes fell on me, she turned cold.
Jaz stuck almost too close to the man, and I couldn’t help but feel something bubbling inside as I followed them to the front door. It couldn’t be jealousy. It couldn’t be. Jaz and I were over; we were never really together, technically. It’d been nothing but a lie and then countless misunderstandings.
The man, the moment we stepped into the house, told Jaz, “Get your mother and go upstairs. I’ll handle him.” His hazel eyes lingered on Jaz a bit too long, the mask his scruffy face wore no longer one of disdain for me.
This guy…who was he to Jaz?
